


Merry Christmas, Mycroft Holmes

by Schwa_E



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwa_E/pseuds/Schwa_E
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas</p>
<p>Christ·mas</p>
<p>ˈkrisməs/<br/>noun<br/>The annual Christian festival celebrating Christ’s birth, held on December 25 in the Western Church<br/>Also known as a rather lonely holiday for Mycroft.</p>
<p>Person A is feeling lonely during the holiday season despite liking Person B. With the power of Christmas etc, Person B helps cheer them up because Person B really likes Person A. Bonus points if they get together on Christmas when Person A realizes Person B actually loves them. Double bonus points if there is a mistletoe scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Mycroft Holmes

As the rain drops slid down the window of the black, sleek car, Mycroft Holmes heaved a small sigh. Christmas wasn’t something he typically liked, but for the first time in almost forty one years, he actually felt odd. Not lonely, no. Well maybe a little, although he would never have admitted it. He closed his eyes and gently rested his forehead against the cold glass, taking a moment to let his mind rest. The only downside of his rather brilliant mind, was that if he pushed it too hard, his mind seemed to tell him things he did not want to believe. Well, at least that’s what he always told himself.

His fingers danced over the handle of his umbrella, a black one. He wasn’t one for bright colors. He remained like this for several minutes, just listening to the traffic of London, what little there was, and the sound of the rain hitting the windows. He always had loved the rain. He often liked to walk in the rain, which is why he almost always had an umbrella with him.

\- 

“No Myc, I’ve already told you that your father and I won’t be home for Christmas. We’re working. If it was possible, we would.”

“But mother, Sherlock and I miss you terribly, and it’s not fair you took her with you and not us also,” Mycroft said into the phone, in a desperate attempt to get his parents home. This was Sherlock’s first Christmas without their parents, and he swore to Mycroft he wouldn’t come out and open any presents unless it was their mother and father.

“Mycroft, I will not have this conversation again. Merry Christmas,” his mother’s sharp voice surprised him a bit, but she had never been one to be talked back to. The line went dead and Mycroft replaced the phone, taking several deep breaths. He turned to the stairs and sighed. Sherlock didn’t open any of his presents that year, nor any year after that.

-

The car came to a stop in front of Sherlock and John’s flat, and Mycroft opened the door to the car, stepping out into the rain and looking up at the sky. He took a moment as the car pulled away, just staring up at the darkened sky.

His attention was taken away from the sight when he heard his name being called from his right. He turned his head to see none other than Gregory Lestrade jogging towards him, hugging a small bag of gifts to his chest and holding a newspaper over his head. Mycroft felt a small, wiry smile reach his lips as he opened up his umbrella and held it up for Greg to step under with him.

-

“What exactly do you want me to do with Sherlock?” Greg asked, giving the man in front of him an odd look.

Mycroft sighed softly. “It’s quite simple, Gregory Lestrade. You know what he was doing as well as I, and I just need you to keep an eye on my brother and I’ll pay you quite nicely.”

Greg sighed and looked out at the snow falling outside of the small café. Having found a near dead Sherlock in a drug den only a day ago, and forcing him to his flat to help him, he was at his wits end. Christmas Eve was that day, and after his recent divorce, he really needed the money.

He turned back to look at Mycroft. “How much?”

Mycroft gave him a slight smile, standing up and putting the money for Greg’s tea on the table. “Name your price.”

-

Greg looked up at Mycroft with a wide grin. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft Holmes,” he greeted, shuffling under the umbrella gratefully. Mycroft gave a roll of his eyes.

“Hardly,” he said, looking down at Greg. He felt his stomach stir a little when his eyes met Greg’s, but his smile disappeared.

Greg frowned and tilted his head a little. “Why is that?” he questioned, genuinely curious. Mycroft gave him a shrug.

“It’s not technically Christmas yet. It’s Christmas Eve,” he pointed out. He looked at Greg and he unconsciously made his deductions. Recently lost full custody of his son, didn’t get the bonus he was needing for Christmas, he deduced, before making himself a silent promise to put some extra money in Greg’s bank accounts.

“Always with the technicalities, Mycroft,” he teased him slightly, playfully rolling his eyes, “Shall we go join the party animals upstairs?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes back and nodded, opening the door for Greg, following him inside the building. He could hear Sherlock upstairs, playing his bloody violin.

-

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! It is Christmas, can’t you put that bloody instrument down for two minutes to at least eat something?” Mycroft practically screamed through Sherlock’s bedroom door.   
After a few moments the playing stopped, the door opened, and Redbeard stepped out.

“Feed him,” was all Sherlock said to him before slamming the door once more and began playing once more.

Mycroft stared at the door for a moment before looking down at the dog. “Merry Christmas, Redbeard,” he said softly, taking him downstairs to feed him.

-

Mycroft looked down at his watch in boredom, surprised that he had managed to stay for an hour and a half. The reason was that he was being entertained by Greg, who was making an arse of himself. The minute they had come in, John (who was already drunk) had given Greg a beer. Now a hammered John and a half drunk Greg were singing a rather off-tune version of “Silent Night”, and Mycroft found it nothing short of amusing.

At the end of the song, John stumbled over and sat down in his chair, and Greg went to use the bathroom. Mycroft slumped back a little into the couch and sighed. It was now ten o’clock, and he was getting anxious to get home, although the idea of going home made him uneasy. To his large townhouse, alone and quiet. The cold rooms and no one to spend Christmas with.

He stood up and retrieved his coat and umbrella, and no one took notice. It wasn’t until he was opening the front door to leave did anyone say anything, and Greg was right behind him. “Mycroft, where are you going?”

Mycroft paused and bit his lip before turning to give Greg a forced smile. “Ah, hello Gregory. I’m just on my way home. I think I’ve expired my welcome here.”

Greg smiled a little and shook his head, stepping forward and shutting the door. “It absolutely is not. Come on, stay a while longer. I hear that John and Sherlock will kiss each other at midnight. Surely you don’t want to miss that.”

Mycroft gave a hearty laugh at that and nodded. “Only a little longer. I have work in the morning,” he half lied. He wasn’t actually supposed to work tomorrow, but probably would.

“Working on Christmas. That’s terrible,” Greg said, leaning against the banister of the stairs.

-

“What do you mean you have to work on Christmas?” Mycroft asked, staring at his parents in disbelief as they began loading the car with their luggage.

“Yes, Mycroft, we’re working on Christmas,” his father said, giving him an exasperated look. Mycroft shook his head and stormed into the house, going straight to his bedroom.

-

Mycroft shrugged. “Work is work, it must be done,” he said, “Surely you know that, Detective Inspector.”

Greg nodded sadly. “Yes, I’ve had more than my fair share of working on holidays. But tell me, is any of your family coming to spend the morning with you? Or maybe friends?” he questioned.

“He can’t be serious,” Mycroft thought to himself, “Obviously he means if I’ll be spending Christmas with a partner.” He laughed and shook his head. “Hardly,” he said, “I don’t have many friends, and most of my family, actually, all of my family hates me,” he explained.

“That cannot be true, I’m sure your entire family adores you,” Greg said. He had met the Holmes parents’ before, and they were lovely people, and seem to love their children.

“They don’t, especially not as much as Sherlock,” Mycroft said with some bitter in his voice. “I’ll just be spending this Christmas alone, like any normal day.”

Greg frowned a little and shook his head. “Unacceptable. You’re going to spend Christmas with someone, even if I’m not the best company,” he said. Mycroft raised a brow at him and leaned against the door.

“Oh really? So you’re just going to show up at my doorstep tomorrow morning and demand I open ridiculous gifts and do idiotic traditions? Honestly Gregory.”

Greg laughed, and the sound made Mycroft’s chest fill with warmth, and a smile slipped over his features. “Nope. I’ll be going home with you and spending the night. There is no way in hell I’m getting up that early in the morning and trying to find a cab,” he said, “Although the rest is true.”

Mycroft smiled and shook his head. He wasn’t going to argue against Greg. Who would? The man he had been smutted with for almost a year now was insisting he would go home with him, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Obviously nothing romantic was going to happen, but at least he could look forward to spending the first Christmas since he was ten with someone. “Alright.”

-

After almost an hour and a half of casual talking Mycroft and Greg returned upstairs and talked more. Greg talked Mycroft into drinking a little, although he wouldn’t drink the beer. He drank two glasses of wine, and he felt a little tipsy. It was almost midnight now, and Molly insisted that they all kiss someone at the dawning of Christmas Day, like New Years. Mycroft thought it was ridiculous, but John readily agreed as did Molly and the friend she had brought, who had kept eyeing Greg.

Two minutes. Mycroft stood up and went to put his coat on, as Greg handed out his presents to John and Sherlock. “He couldn’t possibly like someone like me. Fat, arrogant, aging,” Mycroft thought.

Minute and a half. Greg looked over at Mycroft with a sad expression as he walked out of the room to go downstairs and wait in the car for Greg. “Go. It’s Christmas. Christmas is the time to be with the ones you love,” John said to him. Greg nodded and stood up, grabbing the last box he had and hurrying after Mycroft.

One minute. Mycroft was opening the door when he heard someone half stumbling down the stairs, and he turned to see a frazzled Greg. “Gregory, I wasn’t leaving. I was just going to the car,” he explained, “It’s almost midnight, you should go back upstairs to celebrate with the wrong tradition,” he said.

Half a minute left. Greg shook his head and handed Mycroft the box, looking at him in slight nervousness. Mycroft lifted the lid of the box in question and peered inside. “Gregory, mistletoe is a tradition started by the Druids who would hang in in their houses because they believed it would bring good luck, and that it was a symbol of love,” he said, lifting the object from the box and holding it up, giving Greg a questioning look.

Ten seconds. “John says that Christmas time should be spent with the ones you love,” Greg said, “I believe he is right.”

Before Mycroft could say anything Greg put his hand over Mycroft’s that was holding the mistletoe and lifted it above their heads, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss. The kiss lasted only a few moments, but the shock of everything that had happened was still in Mycroft’s head.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft Holmes,” Greg whispered, giving Mycroft a sheepish smile as the taller leaned down to press their lips together once more.


End file.
